The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The First Collection by Frost, J (great novels .txt) 📕

That’s what I was worried about.

“Did you have any signal with Laurel to stop if she couldn’t breathe or got into trouble?”

“Uh, no, but she’d have pushed me off if she was choking or something. I’m not an asshole, man. I wouldn’t have kept hammering her throat if she’d tried to get away.”

Good to hear, especially after finding out what else was evidently going on at the party.

“I understand that there was a belt around her throat for some of it. Did she seem okay with that?”

“Yeah. We’d done that before, when it was just her and me and Dovie.”

Thank God, rough play wasn’t new to her. “And being spanked and hit with the belt? Had you done that before?”

“No, that was kind of the porno guy’s thing. Dovie and Laurel were teasing him before we went into the room, asking if he was as mean in real life as he was in his films.”

That tallies with Rick’s memory, too. “Was he?”

“Yeah. It looked pretty mean. I wouldn’t have wanted him to hit me like that, that’s for sure.”

Fuck. “Did Laurel seem like she was in pain or wanting him to stop hitting her?”

“No. She seemed to really get off on it. What’s this all about, man?”

Shit. Time to wrap this up. “I’m just looking into things for Rick. Mostly I want to track down Laurel. Thanks for your help with that.”

“Yeah, okay.” Tiger Tail doesn’t sound appeased. “Guy’s wasting his time, though. She’s off the market.”

“Thanks. I’ll let him know. I appreciate you talking with me.” I tap my pen against my notebook as I search for a way to end this call but leave the conversation open-ended enough that I can call him back later if I need to.

Tiger Tail does it for me. “Listen, if your boss wants to do another threesome, tell him I’m up for it anytime. Just give him this number, okay?”

Is this bastard for real?

“No problem.”

I thank him again and hang up, then quickly dial the number for Devota “Dovie” Donegan, hoping to catch her early and potentially before she speaks to Tiger Tail, but the call goes through to voice mail. I leave a message before joining my little girl for breakfast.

* * *

Emily’s put a pink, floral playsuit over the white fishnets and removed the apron, but she’s still wearing the butt plug, and a huge grin, as she greets our guests. She’s taken me being an hour behind schedule all day completely in stride and if she’s concerned that she’s still setting out trays of vegetarian lasagna, homemade hummus, deep-fried eggplant, blue-corn tortilla chips, and green salad garnished with tomatoes from our garden when people start arriving, you’d never know it as she hugs my business partner, Manny, and his wife, Jen, and takes the three, deep-dish pizzas they’ve brought with them to set out on the buffet.

She flits back and forth from the kitchen to the door, my giddy imp. She may be an introvert, and groups of strangers may never be easy for her, but she loves gatherings of friends. She’ll be hyped all night, without a drop of alcohol. After everyone goes, she’ll crash, and tomorrow she’ll be subdued and need lots of cuddles. Small price to pay for seeing her so happy now.

I can’t take this away from her. She loves living in the City. Loves my house. Loves my club. Loves my friends. I can’t tear her away from all this and move her back to Syracuse when she’s just found it.

What the fuck am I going to do?

“Who kicked your dog, buddy?” Max slaps me between the shoulder blades, disrupting my train of thought.

I give him an arch glance. “Hello to you, too, mate.”

He holds up a mesh bag of limes and a bottle of tequila. “Liquid courage. Cure whatever ails you.”

I shake my head at him. “First rule of topping. Keep booze and drugs to a minimum. Topping’s all the high you need.”

“Fuck that,” Max says. “I’m just watching, so I can be drunk as a fucking skunk. Enjoy your non-alcoholic beer, sucker.”

Emily bounces over to us, and how she does that with the butt plug in, I don’t know. Taking the limes and tequila from Max, she chirps, “Hi, Max. I’ll put you out a shot glass and some salt. Unless you’d rather just mainline?”

“Hey, girlie-girl. Give me a straw and I’ll be all set.”

She grins at him before she bounces away.

“You hit her,” Max growls at me. “That little sweetheart. You hit her.”

“Every damn day,” I growl back. “She’s fresh off a spanking over my desk. She came twice. Does she look unhappy to you?”

“Asshole.”

“Wanker. You agreed to approach this with an open mind.”

“That was before I saw her running around like Tinkerbell on speed. How can you want to hurt her?”

“She’s running around like Tinkerbell on speed because I hurt her. Exactly the way she wants me to.” I shake my head at him when he starts to object. “Watch the scene. Ask me again afterwards.”

Max rolls his shoulders under his black tee. I’ve never seen Max in anything other than a black tee and jeans. Thick, black, leather belt. Black Docs. Military buzz cut. He looks more like a Dom than I do.

I snort.

“What?” he asks.

“For someone who isn’t a top, you wear the uniform well. C’mon, let me introduce you to Lucy, Austin, and Justine. They’re friends from the club. They like to be spanked, too.” I set off towards the group of subs clustered around the buffet on the kitchen island.

Once he picks his jaw up off the floor, Max follows me.

Rick’s the last to arrive, turning up so late I’ve all but given up on him. When he walks in, the reason for his delay follows a step behind him. From their frowns and the flush of Rick’s neck, it’s evident they’ve been arguing on the way over.

“Daisy!” Emily squeals as soon as she sees Rick’s guest